


Little Bird

by Littleshebear



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Gen, PTSD, Paternal Relationship, Tower Politics, Zavala is Tower Dad, young Amanda Holliday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleshebear/pseuds/Littleshebear
Summary: An exploration of Amanda Holliday and her relationsthip with Commander Zavala, inspired by that cute little part from the Zavala's Prelude trailer. First part was originally written for the Destiny Week NPC's prompt, but I think this little story has legs so there'll be more.





	1. Chapter 1

> _“The first time I met Zavala, I was really intimidated. He’s kind of a lot to take in, you know? But then we got to talking about the City and the Walls and how we're all going to die and the nine hundred things that want to wipe us out. And I realized he's actually much scarier than most people give him credit for."_
> 
> -Amanda Holliday.

“Aren’t we gonna get in trouble?” Amanda scurries along the City streets with a group of half a dozen other kids from the orphanage.

“It’s fine, New Girl, we do this all the time.”  
  
“Amanda. My name’s Amanda.”  
  
“Whatever. But yeah, it’s fine, we never get caught. ‘Sides, Hideo can afford it. The guy’s minted.”

The children fall into single file and stick close to the wall, creeping along in the shadows until they spot their target. There’s a man dressed in red and white robes, surrounded by various hangers-on, all clearly eager to catch a moment with him. He must be Executor Hideo.

“Okay, New Girl, you go, grab something.”

“Like what?” Amanda hisses.

“Anything that looks valuable. We can sell his stuff down in the City, easy. If you can get a strong box, there’ll definitely be something good in there.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“Because you’re the new girl!” Her co-conspirator’s reply is emphatic, his childish logic  unassailable.

Amanda sighs. “Fine.” There’s a raised wall with a railing along which she creeps, staying low. She peeps up above the wall, seeing if there’s anything she can grab from here. She decides that she needs to get closer but she should be all right because most of the people gathered on this little dais are too preoccupied with trying to get an audience with this Hideo to see her. She takes a couple of seconds to observe them. She’s never seen people like this before in her short life. They’re swathed in colourful cloth, preening and swanning around self-importantly. Amanda creeps closer, emboldened. People like them would never notice someone like her, they probably don’t even realise people like her exist. No, they won’t see her, they won’t miss any of this stuff.

She reckons she can fit through those railings, so she grabs them with both hands and pulls herself up. She’s just about to swing herself up and through the gap when she hears urgent whispers and hissing noises.

“Pssst! New Girl! Abort, abort! Come back!”

She peers around the corner to see her new friends beckoning frantically. She shakes her head and mouths ‘ _Why?’_  Just then, her blood runs cold as she hears footsteps approaching behind her. She decides to jump down but hears whoever it is come to a halt behind her, so she ends up in this strange squatting position; her feet on the top of the wall, her hands holding on to the railing and her bottom sticking out. She cranes her neck to see who’s standing behind her. It’s a very large, very bald awoken man, in very shiny, very bulky armour.

“Did you have an appointment with the Executor, or…?” He raises a dark eyebrow.

“No,” Amanda squeaks in reply. “Sir.” She thinks it may be wise to add this honorific. He looks like a sir.

“And the rest of you,” the awoken addresses the others, “Don’t think I can’t see you hiding back there. Come out. You,” he snaps his fingers at Amanda, “down.”

Amanda lets her feet slide and scrape slowly down the wall before they come to rest on the floor, then lets go of the railings. She gulps but her throat is bone-dry and it nearly makes her retch. She shuffles over to join the group, looking for someone to hide behind, someone to shield from this terrifying, sentient wall of metal.

“Why aren’t you in school?” He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t need to, there’s something about his voice that oozes authority. The question is met with shuffles and mumbling. “What are you even doing in this part of the Tower? You’re not supposed to be up here.” The children are suddenly all very interested in their feet and the ground.

“No one want to field that question either?” He stands with his hands behind his back, in a militaristic ‘at ease,’ posture. “No? Can I take a guess? Was it something to do with ‘redistribution of wealth?’ By any chance?”

More silence.

“Mm hmm. All right. I’m going to give you all the benefit of the doubt. I’m going to assume you were playing truant and you ‘got lost.’ I don’t expect to see any of you in this situation again, if I do, I will have you cleaning the latrines in the Titan dorms with toothbrushes. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s met with a few tiny peeps of “yes” and “mm hmm.”

“I said, do I make myself clear?”

This more forceful question prompts the children to reply in chorus. Amanda replies, “Yes!” while the others go with “Yes Commander!”

“Good. Now get back to school and I  _will_  be checking to to see if you all turn up, my Ghost can identify you. About face. Quick march. Now!”

The children turn on their heels and beat an undignified retreat, gradually gaining in speed until they are running across the plaza, breathless and laughing with relief.

“Who was that?” Amanda asks once they finally decide it’s safe to stop.

“Commander Zavala.”

“What’s his deal?”

“He’s sort of the grand poobah around here. He’s in charge.”

“In charge of what?” Amanda rests her shaking hands on her knees, trying to get her breath back.

The others laugh and one of them gestures expansively with her arm. “This. The Tower.”

~*~

Executor Hideo paces, back and forth, gesticulating in the direction of the retreating children. “If those street urchins don’t stop-”

“They’re harmless, Executor.” Zavala cuts him off. He’s as still and calm as Hideo is agitated. “They’re spirited, that’s all.”

“They’re thieves.”

“They’re orphans with nothing but time on their hands.” Zavala makes a conscious effort to remain diplomatic. “If they misbehave, that is the City’s failure, not theirs. There’s more to caring for refugees than feeding and housing them. They need a sense of purpose, to feel like they have a stake in this place.”

Hideo shakes his head and chuckles, “Zavala, you’re turning this into a speech.” He pours a goblet of wine and offers it to Zavala who refuses it with a raised palm. Hideo takes a sip and regards Zavala thoughtfully. “What are you after?”

Zavala gives a nonchalant shrug. “Perhaps you could reawaken your altruistic streak? A small donation towards the orphanage and its school could make all the difference to these children.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“You don’t get anything out of altruism. That’s the whole point. A sense of civic pride maybe?”

Hideo snorts. “Please.”

Zavala tips his head to the side, acknowledging defeat. It was a worth a try and certainly worth it to see the look on Hideo’s face.

“Very well. You asked me here to discuss the Vanguard’s plasteel supply contracts? If New Monarchy were to pledge some of its funds towards seeing to the well-being of this City’s most vulnerable inhabitants, I suppose I could see my way towards recommending your factories.”

Hideo nods slowly. “All right. We have an accord. I’ll throw some glimmer at the little delinquents, I get the plasteel contract.”

“I’ll put in a good word with the Consensus, that’s all I can promise.”

“And my other request?”

Zavala laughs mirthlessly. “You already have my answer on that.” He turns his back on Hideo and makes to leave, speaking over his shoulder, “It’ll take more than a touch of philanthropy to get me to believe in Kings.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ “I can help!”  _

_ "No!” Amanda’s mother lifted her into the transport and pushed her none-too-gently inside. “You’ll stay in here, you’ll keep your head down and you’ll keep quiet. Do you understand? Do not step outside unless I tell you.” _

_ “Okay, Mom.” Amanda nodded before her mother placed a kiss on her forehead. _

_ “We’ll get this thing moving again, we’ll be out of here in no time, you’ll see. Love you, Li’l Bird.” _

_ With that, her mother was gone, gone to help fix this gods-forsaken transport that decided to break down in the middle of Fallen territory. Amanda lay down on the floor of the transport, in a fetal position. The other kids were hiding in here with her, most of the grown-ups had grabbed weapons to help defend the caravan. She heard a Dreg shriek in the distance. _

_ "They’re coming,” one of them whimpered, his breath coming in sharp gasps. There was a sudden whiff of ammonia; one of them had wet themselves. Amanda lay her face against the floor, pieces of grit and dirt pressing into her cheek. She wouldn’t tremble, she wouldn’t cry. She certainly wouldn’t piss her pants. She was a Holliday, and that meant she had to be brave. _

_ She heard a creak, then clanging and sqeaking noises. That must be them opening the hood and working to repair the transport. It wasn’t long before other noises became apparent. Gunshots, shouts that turned to screams. One sound stood out. It wasn’t a cracking sound like most of the other guns, it was a low boom, almost like a thud. The Chaperone. Her mother was fighting. The Dregs must be close.  _

_ There was a thump, the hood closing. Amanda felt shuddering vibrations through the floor as the transport’s engine sputtered into life. There was more yelling, urgent and frantic, (“That’s it, go, go, go!”). She heard the shriek of a Dreg right beside her, no, not beside her, they hadn’t been able to get inside, not yet. It must have been right on the other side of the chassis from her. Amanda screamed and shielded her face with her arm as glass above her shattered. The wretched creature was trying to get in through the window. There was another blast from the Chaperone, then more shrieks. Amanda couldn’t tell if they were the Dreg’s, human or her own.  _

_ Amanda finally heard the doors of the transport swing open and a group of pilgrims clambered aboard. They were pale, sweating and reeking of fear. She pushed herself up from the floor to look out for her mother among the mass of bodies squeezing through the door. She finally spotted her but she wasn’t on her feet. She was being dragged aboard, limp as a rag doll. There was smoke rising from a black, sooty mark on her chest. _

 

“Momma!” Amanda wakes with a start, breathing heavily. Her skin is cold and clammy, her bed sheets are soaking wet. She pushes herself up onto her elbow, listening out to see if any of her dorm-mates have woken. There’s the odd grunt or whimper but the ensuing silence tells Amanda that she managed not to completely wake anyone up. She gingerly eases herself out of bed and tip-toes over to her footlocker and carefully pulls out her shoes and a jacket. She shivers as she pulls on her jacket, the garment pressing her damp pyjamas against her skin.

She pads towards the window, shoes in hand. Her heart is beating so hard in the aftermath of the nightmare, she’s half convinced that it must be loud enough to wake everyone else in the dorm. She knows it’s a risk sneaking out like this but she can’t let them know how much the nightmares get to her. She can’t let them know she barely sleeps, that she can still smell the cordite and burning flesh as though it were happening right in front of her. She can’t let them know that certain sounds or smells send her right back there. She can’t let them know that every time they go to the City bazaars, the smell of cooking meat makes her want to vomit. She needs air. She needs space. It’s stifling in here.

Amanda carefully eases the window open, the hinges squeak slightly. She’ll have to see about procuring some oil before that gets any worse. She places her shoes carefully on the ledge outside before wriggling through the gap. The windows don’t open very far but for now, she’s small enough to get through. She sits on the ledge and slips on her shoes and drops down onto a dumpster and then onto the street.

She wanders the streets for a while, finding them just as overbearing and repressive as the orphanage dorm. She eventually decides to head for the Tower. She knows she’s probably not meant to be there at the best of times but at least she’ll be able to see the sky. She can vaguely remember an elevator that they took last time, during that ill-fated raid on Executor Hideo.

A group of laughing Guardians spill out from what she thinks is the right elevator. At least, she thinks it’s the right elevator. Everything looks different in the dark. She waits until they’re well clear before slipping through the doors. She stands on her toes and presses the top number. That looks promising. When the doors open, she sighs with relief as she feels the cool breeze on her face. She takes a deep breath before venturing out. She glances back and forth before dashing up the steps and across the plaza. She notices an open area towards the back of the plaza, through a large gate. She heads for it, sticking to the darkness so that the few people still out and about on the plaza can’t see her. She slips past the gate and and gasps when she sees what’s in front of her.

The light of the Traveler casts a silver hue on manicured lawns, long, rectangular ponds and large trees at the end of a paved promenade. That isn’t what gains Amanda’s attention though. At the far end of the this little park there’s a railing and nothing but open space, the mountains and sky, so much sky. She ambles down the path, eschewing the seating on either side in favour of sitting on the edge, her feet dangling down over the Tower.

Amanda rests her arms on the railings, plonks her chin on her hands and gazes out across the landscape. They were so close. If that transport hadn’t broken down there and then, if that Fallen had shot at someone else, if they’d been faster. Maybe if Momma had let Amanda help with the repairs, they’d have got moving more quickly -

Amanda’s view of the landscape blurs as the tears that have been threatening ever since tonight’s nightmare overtake her. It’s all right, she can cry here, there’s no one to see. There’s no one to see that she isn’t being as brave as a Holliday should be.

 

***

 

Zavala tells himself that he can manage one more report before calling it a night but the crick in his neck and tension in his shoulders tell him that’s probably a lie. The stream of titans seeking his advice had slowed to a trickle before stopping completely. They have better things to do, no doubt down in the City, in the Blustery Brew. It’s time to turn in. He straightens up and winces suddenly as he feels something on the periphery of his senses. 

“I told you,” intones Ikora from the other end of the table.

“Told me what?” Replies Zavala.

“You’ll throw your back out if you keep hunching like that,” she replies with a smirk.

“It’s not my back, it’s…” Zavala trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose, homing in on the painful sensation on the edge of his consciousness. He looks up at the ceiling. It’s above him, it’s _ right _ above him. “Do you hear that?”

Ikora frowns and tips her head to the side. “Hear what?”

“It’s very faint, it’s…” It’s then he realises what he’s hearing and why Ikora can’t sense it. Ikora’s attunement to the Light is second to none but this isn’t the Light. This is another mind, crying out in such distress that it doesn’t care who else hears. It’s desperate, unfiltered. It’s human.

“It’s nothing.” He is reasonably certain Ikora won’t believe him when he says this but he fears he’s inadvertently intruded upon some private grief he had no business hearing. “I’m just tired. Good night.”

“Good night, Commander,” Ikora replies as Zavala makes his way out of the Vanguard Hall. She can’t disguise the curiosity in her voice. “See you in the morning.”

Zavala jogs up the steps to the plaza. Instead of heading towards the Guardian apartments he does an about-face and heads towards Traveler’s Walk. He makes his way down the paved path toward the source of the mental anguish that so disturbed his concentration. He discerns a tiny figure at the end of the promenade. They’re sitting right at the edge of the paving.  A child. They’re small, they can’t be any older than ten, certainly small enough to slip through those railings. He lengthens his stride to reach them, they shouldn’t be up here by themselves. He clears his throat in an attempt to make his presence known without startling them.

The little one gasps and turns, revealing glistening eyes and puffy, tear-stained cheeks. Zavala feels a wave of fear wash over him, like cold needles pricking all over his skin. It only lasts a fraction of a second, before the crushing sadness returns.

He holds his hand out, “Come away from the edge, child.”

“I won’t fall.” There’s still fear in her voice but there’s a hint of defiance that Zavala can’t help but admire.

“Even so.” He beckons. “Humour me.”

She gets to her feet awkwardly and shuffles over to him. “I know. I’m not meant to be up here.”

“You’re really not, not at this hour. Not alone.” Zavala studies her properly. “We’ve met before.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

She flushes deeply and nods, still not meeting his gaze. “Me and my friends were…” She pauses to remember the right words, “We wanted to redist- Redrib- Redristrib…” She sighs before abandoning the euphemism. “We were stealing from Executor Hideo.” She finally looks up at him. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Zavala’s Ghost appears at his shoulder and speaks privately to him, _ Amanda Holliday. Unaccompanied minor. Arrived and registered at the City Refugee Service 23 days ago. _

_ Unaccompanied minor,  _ Zavala replies.  _ You mean she’s an orphan. She doesn’t have anyone? _

_ No one claimed her, no,  _ Izanami states sadly.

“Amanda, is it?” Zavala asks her. 

The child’s gaze flickers uncertainly between Zavala and his Ghost before nodding.

“What are you doing up here on your own?

She shrugs. “I snuck out.” She mumbles an addendum, “I wanted to see the sky.”

Zavala frowns, seeking a further explanation.

“The dorm is really stuffy.”

“You just wanted some air? That’s it?”

Amanda nods. She’s clearly resisting it but her face soon crumples.  Zavala places a gentle hand on her shoulder and steers her towards one of the benches set-up beneath the trees in their planters. She settles herself on the seat, pulls her knees to her chest and sobs.

Zavala closes his eyes and visualises a wall behind his eyes. There are times he pities humans’ and exos’ inability to sense the feelings of others but this is not one of them. Once the tumult in his head has quieted, he opens his eyes to regard the little girl seated at his side.

“It’s all right,” he says softly. In his long years in service to the City, he’s seen this many times before. There’s a strange bravado in refugees, in orphans in particular. A desire to prove their self-sufficiency.. “I won’t tell anyone you cried.”

She swipes the back of her hand across her eyes and then her nose, sniffling loudly. “I just had a bad dream. That’s all.”

“Do the bad dreams happen a lot?” 

Amanda shrugs, replying with a strained voice. “I miss my mom.”    
  
“She died on the Road? I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t remember my mother.”

“I could have helped,” Amanda whimpers mournfully, “Our transport broke down, it held up the whole caravan. The Fallen came. I could have helped - “

“No.”

“I’m good at fixing things -”

“Stop it.” 

“If I’d got out to help-”

“Amanda. Stop. Your mother was protecting you.”

Amanda tries to take a deep breath but her it catches in her throat. “I can take care of myself.”

Zavala places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a tentative squeeze. “You don’t have to. You’re allowed to have a childhood here.” 

Amanda looks up at him expectantly. “Because the Walls will keep all the bad stuff out?”

“I hope so.”

Amanda frowns, “What?”

“I hope the Walls will keep the Darkness at bay. I can’t guarantee it.”

Amanda’s tears dry up sheer through sheer force of surprise. “What? No. The Walls keep the bad stuff out!”

Zavala nods. “That’s what they’re meant to do, yes.”

Amanda gapes. “That’s not how you’re meant to talk to kids!”

“How is one _ meant _ to talk to kids?”

Amanda gasps, nonplussed. “You’re meant to tell them that it’s all going to be okay, that everything is going to be all right!”

“Ah. ” Said Zavala. “You want me to lie?”

“No…” Amanda splutters, “You just...what?”

“You know what’s out there,” He replies calmly. “You’ve seen it. What would be the point in me telling you that the monsters aren’t real?”

Amanda gapes up at him, blinking several times in disbelief.   
  
“I won’t lie. I don’t believe in lying. Lying leads to impossibility of truth so here it is. The monsters are real. The Walls are not infallible.” 

“Is this supposed to stop me having nightmares?” Amanda asks incredulously.   
  
“No. I know how scary they are but…” Zavala kneels in front of her and takes her tiny, trembling hands in his.. “...I’m  _ way _ scarier.”   
  
“What do you mean?” Amanda asks in a tiny voice.   
  
“The Fallen, the Vex, the Hive, the Cabal, they could breach the wall tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter to you. Do you know why?”    
  
Amanda shakes her head, curling her little fingers around his.   
  
“They won’t get to you. They have to come through  _ me _ first.”


End file.
